


Twenty Years

by NyxxTheWolf



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxxTheWolf/pseuds/NyxxTheWolf
Summary: Time only moves forward, never backwards. Geralt watches the years take their toll on Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 91





	Twenty Years

**Author's Note:**

> A short and angsty drabble I wrote because I was in an angsty mood. I cried at least three times whie writing this, so have tissues ready.

Twenty years is not a long time for a Witcher. Twenty years is a drop of water in an endless ocean to a man who is practically immortal. Twenty years, however, is a very long time for a human. Geralt can see the years reflected on Jaskier’s face. He can see those two decades in the wrinkles that seem to appear overnight and in the way his hair starts to turn white like his own.

Jaskier was barely twenty years old when they met in Posada. Young and full of life, eager to see the world and spin tales of Geralt’s adventures across the continent. He followed Geralt across the land, singing his praises to everyone who would listen. There was always a new adventure just over the horizon, and both of them thrived on it.

Now, teetering on the cusp of his forties, he has started to slow down and is more content with curling up in a warm bed with his Witcher by his side after a long day of travel than playing his lute to a rowdy tavern. They never make a huge show of their affections in public, but behind closed doors they shower each other in light kisses and gentle touches.

Thirty years together and Jaskier is just past his mid-life. The wrinkles are deeper, his hair is mostly grey with streaks of chestnut brown, and his face is speckled with age spots from three decades on the road. Geralt buys him a horse and they ride next to each other, taking a bit more time to travel between villages. Geralt can hear the way Jaskier’s joints creak and pop in the mornings and he tries to ignore it.

Fifty years finds them in a cottage by the sea. In the small main room, leather armor is draped on a stand, collecting dust. Next to it sits a lute, engraved with elven markings and in pristine condition, as if the last half-century hasn’t touched the wood at all. Outside, Jaskier sits in a chair in the sunlight. The sun is warm on his leathery skin, his hair as white and almost as long as Geralt’s now.   
  
The Witcher is chopping wood not far from where he sits, and Jaskier smiles. He knows that he is not long for this world, and he knows that Geralt knows it as well. But for now he is content to sit in the sun with his love and just enjoy the small pleasures left in life.

Sixty-three years is all the time that destiny gives them together. Jaskier passes away quietly in his sleep with Geralt’s arms wrapped tightly around him. The Witcher feels his final breath shudder out, and he feels a sadness settle in his own heart. He waits for the sun to rise before he goes outside and hollows out Jaskier’s final resting place, setting a large ganit stone at the head of the hole to mark it for eternity.   
  
It doesn’t take him long, and after the bard is buried he sits next to the freshly disturbed ground and stares out at the sea for days. After three days, he stands, collects his armor and swords, and walks away, not looking back.

Twenty years is not a long time to a Witcher. Twenty years without Jaskier feels like a century to Geralt. Twenty years later he returns to that cottage by the sea. He’s been alive for nearly two centuries and he’s started to slow down enough that he knows his time has come. He kneels at Jaskier’s headstone and whispers a prayer inaudible to human ears. He draws a small dagger from his boot and in one swift motion, he pulls the blade across his throat.   
  
He closes his eyes and falls to the ground, and when he opens them again, Jaskier is there waiting for him. He rises and takes the hand before him and walks away from that cottage, and as they vanish into whatever lay ahead of them, he smiles for the first time in twenty years.


End file.
